


weathering the storm

by ZombieBabs



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Meetings, Romance, Sex Work, Sharing a Bed, Strangers to Lovers, Unsoundiversary 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23805742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieBabs/pseuds/ZombieBabs
Summary: The idea hits her when she’s elbows deep in soapy water, scrubbing at dishes that have sat in the sink just a day too long.If she can’t find a date for the big family reunion, why not rent one?
Relationships: Alex Reagan/Richard Strand
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My gift to [heresasimmer](https://heresasimmer.tumblr.com/) for the Unsoundiversary!!
> 
> A huge thanks to [pr0serpina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr0serpina/pseuds/pr0serpina) for beta reading!

Alex plucks a glass of champagne from a passing waitress. She takes a small sip, the bubbles tickling at her tongue. 

It’s an excellent champagne, of course. Paul had fretted and Terry had tutted over the selection—especially over the price tag of this particular selection—but neither man has been known to skimp on the alcohol for the annual Minnow Beats Whale benefit. Not when the highest paying donors have been invited to celebrate their contributions, and especially not when they could be further persuaded to loosen their wallets during the silent auction.

Alex takes another sip of champagne, eyes scanning the crowd. As one of the producers of the fan-favorite show, Pacific Northwest Stories, Alex is expected to mingle. To answer questions and generally make their guests feel warm, welcome, and satisfied that their money has been put to good use. She’s been “on” for a good two hours, however, and she deserves a little break. And a drink.

Or ten.

Her heels are _killing_ her.

Alex’s eyes catch on a man standing at the bar. On his arm is an older woman, her grey hair pulled into a severe chignon, her garnet gown glittering in the soft light. The man himself, however, is what keeps Alex’s attention.

“That has got to be the hottest man I’ve ever seen,” Paul says, approaching Alex, hand-in-hand with his wife.

Paul’s wife, Sera, is dressed in a form-fitting violet gown that hugs each of her curves. She smiles at her husband before leaning in to kiss Alex’s cheeks. “Hello, Alex, dear.”

“Hi Sera,” Alex says. “You look absolutely alluring in that gown.”

Terry keeps looking around playfully, as if he has no idea who Paul is talking about. Or who Alex could be staring at. As if her life depended on it.

As if anyone could not recognize the man standing by the bar, the perpetual wry smile tilting his lips up just-so. He’s tall—perhaps the tallest man in the room—with full, dark hair, greying at the temples. Even from across the room, Alex can tell his suit is designer. It’s tailored so well, it fits him as if he was poured into it. 

“Careful, Alex,” Paul says, nudging her with his elbow. “You’re starting to form a puddle. From, y’know, all the drool.”

Alex drags her eyes away from the man in order to roll them at one of her executive producers.

“Oh, Paul,” Sera says, sighing dramatically. “You said you wanted to encourage her, not embarrass her.” 

She turns to Alex, grinning. “Go on, dear. Go talk to him. But, be careful not to slip. We should really get a wet floor sign out here.”

Alex laughs. “Oh, right, like a guy that gorgeous would ever give me the time of day.”

Terry, Alex’s other executive producer, sips at his drink. He shares a glance with Paul and Sera over the top of his glass. “I dunno. Looks like his date abandoned him. You may just have a shot.”

Alex looks towards the bar. The older woman, her gloved hand held aloft by an older gentleman, floats toward the dance floor, leaving the man leaning rakishly against the bar. Alone. 

As if he can feel Alex’s gaze, the man’s eyes meet Alex’s from across the dance floor.

His gaze is electric. His lips quirk up in a smirk. He takes a drink from his glass, tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

Alex shivers.

“See?” Sera says. She slips behind Alex and gives her lower back a small push. Not enough to knock Alex over, but just enough to get her legs moving in the direction of the bar. 

Alex does _not_ stumble, but it’s a close thing. Instead, she squares her shoulders and holds her head high, like she would before approaching any of the donors at the benefit, hottest man at the party or not.

The man swirls the remaining amber liquid in his crystal glass, before taking a drink. He turns back to the bartender and Alex spends a smart second admiring his backside before she remembers herself and continues her walk toward the bar.

She just has to get a drink. She doesn’t actually _need_ to speak to the ridiculously hot man standing there. Not unless he makes an effort to speak to her, first. Nevermind the nearly full glass of champagne already in her hand. Nevermind that, in spite of Alex’s profession, she’s never been great at small talk. Nevermind that the man is _looking at her, oh jesus, oh fuck—_

“Uh, hi,” Alex says, shifting awkwardly from one painful heel to the other. She winces and the man laughs.

Even his laugh is attractive. Soft and low, more breath than anything. “Hello.”

“I’m, um, Alex. And, I, uh, don’t really do this very often, but, um, I was—” 

“Looking for some company?” the man asks. 

His voice is a rich, low, baritone that shoots straight to Alex’s core. 

“Um, yes?”

The man smiles. “Meet me upstairs after the party. Room 940.”

“I—what?”

The man opens his mouth, but before he can continue, his eyes catch on something behind Alex. “Excuse me, my date looks like she could use a bit of rescuing.”

He brushes behind Alex, placing his hands briefly on her waist. Alex presses her thighs together at the heat of him, but the contact is gone just as suddenly as it had begun.

Woodenly, Alex makes her way back to Sera, Paul, and Terry. 

“How’d it go?” Sera asks.

Paul gives two encouraging thumbs up.

Terry snickers.

“He, uh, asked if I wanted to meet him after the party. Upstairs. In his room.”

Paul and Sera exchange delighted looks. Terry continues to snicker.

“That’s excellent,” Paul says. 

“Are you going to go?” Sera asks. “ _Please_ tell me you’re going.”

“I’m supposed to be working,” Alex narrows her eyes at both executive producers. “ _We’re_ supposed to be working. Paul. Terry. Don’t tell me you forgot this is a work function and not an opportunity to drink expensive booze and schmooze it up with Seattle high society.”

“Schmooze it up,” Terry mouths, as if tasting the phrase on his tongue. 

“Um, no,” Paul says, grinning. “Of course not. See, the mayor is right over there. Whomst with which I will go network with now. Bye.”

Paul pulls his laughing wife after him, who calls over her shoulder, “Go to him, Alex. It’s your destiny!”

Paul waltzes with Sera for a few steps before continuing on towards Seattle’s mayor with just a smidgeon of professionalism. 

Alex looks at Terry with raised brows over her glass of champagne.

Terry barks a laugh before sidling into the crowd. Alex loses him almost immediately, which, after years of working with him, Alex has determined must be his super power.

For the rest of the night, Alex smiles her most serene public-radio smile, but even as she networks with their highest paying donors, she can’t keep her eyes off of the man.

He stands tall on the arm of the older woman—his grandmother, perhaps?—smiling and laughing where appropriate. Several women (and some men) do double-takes as he goes by and, while the man doesn’t seem to be aware of the effect he has on others, the woman on his arm clearly relishes in it. She wears something like a satisfied smirk for most of the evening and it only becomes more pronounced each time she’s greeted with another “Miriam, _darling_ , who is this handsome young man on your arm?”

The expression, coupled with an odd hunger each time the older woman looks at the man, seems less than grandmotherly, but Alex shrugs it off. Who is she to say what is and what isn’t appropriate?

At last, as the evening winds down, Alex stands on the steps of the hotel. It’s unseasonably warm for Seattle and that, combined with the champagne she’d been sipping to calm her nerves ever since The Incident with The Man, has Alex worrying about the fine sheen of sweat that’s sure to be the downfall of her drugstore makeover. 

The older woman Alex now knows as Miriam floats through the open double doors, the golden lighting of the hotel lobby behind her making her look like some sort of movie star. On her arm, again, is The Man.

Miriam looks Alex up and down as she passes. She turns to the man with an eyebrow raised. The Man rolls his shoulders in a minute shrug, then winks at Alex over Miriam’s head.

Several guests pass Alex, but she can only watch as The Man escorts Miriam to the cherry red sports car purring in the valet lane. He opens the door for her, helps her into the driver’s seat, kisses her on the cheek, and then backs away to watch as she pulls out of the hotel with a squeal of rubber on cement.

What a strange woman. 

How interesting must it have been for The Man to have a grandmother like Miriam?

Great. Not only does she want to engage in rather adult-oriented activities with him, but now she also wants to interview him about his childhood.

Alex almost rolls her eyes at herself, except The Man himself is approaching Alex. Her mouth goes dry. How can climbing stairs translate into something so sensual? 

The way he moves his body—it reminds Alex of a tiger, all lithe and dangerous and purposeful. 

“Shall I escort you upstairs?” he damn near purrs.

“I, uh,” Alex looks around for Terry or Paul, but neither man is at his post. Paul and Sera must have slipped out early. And Terry? 

Alex would rather not know. 

“Um, sure.”

The Man crooks his arm and Alex slips her hand through to rest on his bicep.

From what she can tell, beneath his tux, he has _beautiful_ biceps. 

He leads her up the grand staircase, back into the hotel, and through the lobby to the gilded elevator. He leans forward to call the elevator and glances at Alex. 

“Alex, was it?”

“I—yeah. Alex Reagan. And you? I don’t think I caught your name.”

The Man smirks. “I never gave it. You may call me Knight. Richard Knight.”

“Richard Knight.” Alex smiles, then cocks her head as the thought hits her. “Someone in your family must really love chess.”

Knight blinks. “What?”

“The name Richard is supposed to mean king, right? Or, a strong leader. But, usually, a king. So, King Knight, right? Like, my king to your knight? Chess.”

Knight blanches, but quickly recovers his cool. “Richard is a family name, I’m afraid. Nothing so interesting as you make it seem. Do you play?”

“Oh,” Alex says, blushing to her roots. Damn her inability to make small talk. What about what she said could have made him react like that, subtle as it was? 

“Sorry, no,” she continues. “I’m a producer with Minnow Beats Whale. You know the show Pacific Northwest Stories? We’ve had over one hundred episodes and you would not believe the random facts I’ve got up in here.”

Alex taps her temple with a smile.

Knight tilts his head, but the smile on his own face is shadowed with disappointment. “A shame. A brilliant mind such as yours?” 

He steps into Alex’s space and brushes a stray lock of Alex’s hair behind her ear. “You’d be _unstoppable_.”

Alex’s heart stops. Knight is all sultry heat, his deep voice pitched dangerous and low. All she wants is to take him by his lapels and drag him into a heated kiss and her hands are already moving of their own accord when—

_Ding~!_

The elevator arrives.

Fuck!

Knight takes a step back with a knowing smirk. When no one steps off of the elevator, he places his hand at the small of her back and leads her with gentle pressure into the spacious elevator car. He presses the button for the ninth floor.

As soon as the doors slide closed and the elevator rocks into motion, Knight presses into Alex’s space again. Alex falls back against the steel wall in surprise, both at the suddenness of his movement and the blatant hunger in his eyes.

“Tell me what you want,” Knight says. He nuzzles his nose into the space between her cheek and shoulder. 

Alex’s brain shuts down. She blinks it back to life to the smell of dark, woodsy cologne and the gentlest nip of his teeth against the column of her throat. “Um. I—I don’t know. I don’t normally—oh!”

Alex gasps as he rakes his teeth against the sensitive skin behind her ear. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, and Alex can _feel_ him smiling against her skin. “I’ll take care of you. Just tell me what you want.”

Alex _throbs_ with want. She wants _everything_. “You. I, um, want you.”

The elevator shudders to a halt.

Knight takes Alex’s hand and gives it a small squeeze before leading her through a small group of elderly women waiting for the elevator. He holds her hand high, like he’s escorting some sort of royalty, and the gesture makes Alex’s already watery knees more unsteady.

He unlocks the door to room 940 with an efficient swipe of his keycard—when had he gotten it out?—and swings the door open.

His mouth is on hers, then. Hot and heady and whiskey-sweet. Alex shudders at the passion hidden behind that wry smile and the brightest blue eyes she’s ever seen.

When he pulls Alex toward the bed, Alex follows.

And she’s right—he has _gorgeous_ biceps.


	2. Chapter 2

Alex is still panting, naked and satisfied, when Knight rolls off the bed.

“I’ll need to shower before I make my next appointment,” he says, gathering up his ruined tuxedo. He goes to the closet and tosses the garments into a bag marked for dry cleaning. 

He chooses from a selection of clothing hung from hangers, settling on slacks and a soft blue button-down shirt. “Take your time getting dressed. Oh, and you can leave the money on the table before you go.”

Money?

Appointment?

Oh. Oh no.

His words from the bar echo in her head. ‘Looking for company?’

Him asking her, ‘What do you want?’

Him _comforting_ her, when she said she didn’t normally do this kind of thing. ‘I’ll take care of you.’

“Oh my god,” Alex breathes. She sits up, clutching at her sheets. “Oh my god! You’re a—geezus _fuck—_ I slept with—”

“An escort,” Knight says. He narrows his eyes. “You can’t have been unaware of my profession. Miriam Clairmont was on my arm all evening.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Alex splutters. “Who—?” 

The story tickles at Alex’s memory. It was a scandal, wasn’t it? It made the national headlines when— 

“Miriam Clairmont is your—your— _boss_?”

Knight raises a brow. “Who did you think she was?”

“I don’t know. Your grandmother?”

Knight barks a laugh. “My— Alex, I thought you were far more intelligent than that.”

“Yeah, and I thought I was sleeping with a guy who was actually interested in me, for once.” Alex winces.

So does Knight. “Alex—”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s _fine_. I just—I don’t have any cash on me. Do you—can you do Venmo?”

Knight sighs. “Ideally, no. But in this case, I can make an exception.”

He strides, still fully naked, to the bedside table. He takes the notepad and pen and scribbles a short note before handing the pad to Alex.

_@strandrichard_

“How much?” Alex asks, blushing to her roots. 

He considers Alex, then rattles off a number that makes her wince.

Alex gathers the sheets around her, then searches the room for her handbag. She finds it beneath the folds of her dress, pulls out her phone, and with shaking fingers, under Knight’s watchful eye, transfers a large sum from her bank account to his account. 

“There,” she says. “Sent.”

“Thank you,” he says. He goes to the dresser and opens the top drawer. He takes out a clean pair of boxer briefs and an undershirt. “Have yourself a good night, Alex.”

“Yeah, um, you, too.”

She waits for him to enter the bathroom before dropping the sheet to land in a puddle on the floor. She picks her panties up from one corner of the room and steps into them. She finds her bra beneath the bed and struggles into it as the shower spray creaks on. She wriggles into her gown, cursing when she can only get the zipper halfway up her back. Grabbing her phone and her handbag, Alex only allows herself a quick glance at the bathroom door before she makes her escape.

The next day, Paul finds Alex in her office. He leans against the door jamb, attempting to look suave. “So? How’d it go last night?”

Do not say it. Do not tell him. Do not— 

“He was an escort.” Alex blurts out.

Paul’s eyes go wide. “He was a what?”

“An escort, okay? I slept with an escort. Except I didn’t know he was an escort when I slept with him. But now I know, my wallet knows, you know and, oh— hi, Nic.”

Nic tries to hide his grin, but fails miserably. “Hi, Alex. Guess you had a _pleasurable_ evening last night. Sorry I had to miss the party.”

“Nicodemus Silver,” Alex growls. “If you tell one other soul, I will— _shit_ —hi, Terry.”

“Alex,” Terry says. If he looks at all bothered by Alex threatening his cousin, he doesn’t show it. “Enjoy yourself last night?”

Alex narrows her eyes at the group. “Please. _Please_ tell me none of you knew.”

Nic holds his hands up. “Don’t look at me. Someone had to be here manning the station.”

Paul shakes his head. “No. No, I definitely did not. Did you Terry?”

Terry smirks. “You didn’t notice who his date just so happened to be?”

“Wait—who?” Paul asks, looking at Alex.

Alex blushes. “His date was Miriam Clairmont. You know, Crimson Clairmont? Of Crimson Desires?”

Knowledge dawns on both Nic and Paul’s faces. 

“From the—”

“The one who—”

“Yeah,” Alex says, cutting them off. “That’s the one.”

“Shit,” Nic says. 

“I’m so sorry, Alex,” Paul says.

Alex lets her head fall until her forehead hits the solid laminate of her desk with a satisfying thud. “It’s fine. I just—”

Beside Alex’s head, her cellphone blares a red alert. Alex groans and picks it up along with her head. “Great, now my mom is calling. All of you, get out of my office. Go on, shoo!”

She glares and makes a shooing motion until, one by one, Terry, Nic, and Paul leaves. As Paul closes the door, he mouths an extra ‘Sorry.’ 

Alex swipes at the lock screen and answers with a “Hey, Mom. How’s it going?”

“Well, for one, I’m quite disappointed in you.”

Alex frowns. Every week, Alex has somehow done something to disappoint her mother. What could it be this time?

For a hot second, Alex thinks she must have heard about her one night stand, but no. There’s no way the news has traveled that fast. Not when the only people who know also know what’s good for them.

“The family reunion is this weekend, Alex,” her mother continues, “and you _still_ haven’t said whether or not you’re coming.”

“Oh!” Alex says, instantly relieved. “About that. I’m not sure I can get the time off.”

“Of course you can, Alex. You haven’t had a vacation in _years_. Aren't you always complaining about having too _much_ time saved up and nothing to do with it?”

Alex curses under her breath. “It’s in Florida this year, isn’t it? Aren’t you guys having a hurricane this weekend?”

Alex’s mother sighs. “We don’t _have_ hurricanes, Alex. They’re not something you put on like some kind of, I don’t know, potluck. Besides, it’s supposed to crawl up the west coast. We’ll be perfectly fine.”

Alex grins. “Potluck?”

Alex’s mother ignores her. She’s always been _very_ good at ignoring Alex’s antics. “You wouldn’t be reluctant to come to the reunion because you won’t have a date, would you? Because my girlfriend, Jill—You know her from book club? Well, she has a son who she says is just _dying_ to m—”

“That’s not it,” Alex says. 

Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

“Because, as it so happens,” Alex continues, “I met someone.”

Damn it.

“Oh!” Alex’s mother covers the receiver with her hand. “Alex met someone.” 

“Great job, Alex!” Alex’s father says from somewhere close by.

“Your father says, ‘Great job.’”

“Yes, I know. I heard. Thanks, Dad.”

Her mother relays the message to her father and then, predictably says, “So, tell me everything about him! What’s his name? What does he do for work? Where did you two meet? And why am I just now hearing about this?”

Alex covers her eyes with her hands, but it doesn’t make any of her mother’s questions more bearable. “I was going to surprise you by bringing him to the reunion this weekend?”

Fuck.

Fuckedy fuck, _fuck_.

“Oh, Alex, that’s wonderful news!” Her mother covers the receiver to say, “Alex is bringing her date with her to the reunion this weekend. She thought she could surprise us.”

“Will you be staying with us at the house or with your cousins at the hotel?” Alex’s mother asks.

_Definitely_ the hotel.

“I thought we’d make a romantic weekend out of it, so I booked a different hotel. Where we could have a little more privacy.”

Alex winces. Why not just come right out and say that she and her imaginary date were planning on having an outrageous amount of sex?

“How lovely. I’m so glad to hear you won’t be alone.”

Alex breathes in and holds the breath for as long as she can before letting it out. “Thanks, Mom. Well, I’d better be going. Lots of work to do at the office.”

After an extended goodbye, in which Alex promises to send the flight details and hotel confirmations, Alex hangs up. She lets her head gently bang against her desk once again, letting out a low, unhappy moan.

How in the hell is she supposed to find a date on such short notice, let alone convince one to join her for the long weekend at a family reunion?


	3. Chapter 3

Alex’s friends are useless. 

Sera and Paul have another fundraiser—a tennis tournament raising money for their local dog shelter. Nic has strict deadlines and will be working all weekend. And Terry? 

Alex doesn’t ask Terry. She’s still angry with him for not speaking up about Miriam Clairmont. Before Alex could make a fool of herself.

The idea hits her when she’s elbows deep in soapy water, scrubbing at dishes that have sat in the sink just a day too long.

If she can’t find a date, why not rent one? 

Alex sits at an iron-wrought bistro table in the courtyard of the hotel where just two nights prior she’d smiled at donors and helped to refresh their drinks. Across from her sits Richard Knight with not-quite a scowl. 

“You understand you cannot contact me from that account again,” he says for the fifth time.

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know then, but I know now and I’m sorry. I promise, I won’t do it again.”

His scowl eases. He sits back and throws one leg over the other. “Thank you. And your proposition?”

Alex blushes. “It’s not _that_ kind of proposition. I need a date. To a family reunion.”

Knight nods. “Easy enough. Would you like to discuss my rate now or closer to—”

“It’s in Florida. This weekend,” Alex blurts out. “All expenses paid, of course. Provided you’re free. Please say you’re free? Please?”

Knight tilts his head. The scowl retreats, replaced with his ever-present wry smile. “You said you were desperate—just how deep a mess have you gotten yourself into?”

“I might have accidentally told my mom that I’m seeing someone. And that I was going to surprise my parents by bringing them to the family reunion. In Florida. This weekend.”

Knight breathes out a laugh. “I see. And the only person you could think of was myself?”

“I tried my friends first. They’re all busy. Or too obnoxious to tell me when I’m about to introduce myself to an escort.”

Knight raises his brows.

“I _know_ ,” Alex says. “But here I am, desperate for a date on short notice and I—Well, I trust you not to take advantage of the situation.”

Knight doesn’t say anything long enough that Alex is afraid he’s trying to find the best way to let her down. Until he sighs and says, “I’ll do it.”

All of the tension leaves Alex in a rush. She slumps in her chair with a vehement, “Thank fuck.”

Knight laughs.

A frantic week later, Alex meets Knight at their gate at Sea-Tac. 

Even riddled with nerves, Alek’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him. Dressed down in a pair of well-fitted jeans and a soft blue shirt, he still looks as handsome as the night she first saw him—first, in a tux, and then, wearing nothing at all.

Knight nods when he spots her, and if he notices her staring at him, he doesn’t say anything as he hefts his backpack and makes his way toward her. “Alex.”

“Mr. Knight.”

His wry smile twists upward. “I think our relationship has progressed to the point where you can call me Richard. Especially if you’re going to be bringing me home to meet your parents.”

“Sorry. That makes sense. Richard.” Alex takes a shaky breath. “Sorry. I’m just nervous. I’ve never actually brought anyone home to meet them before. Not even in high school.”

Knight sits beside her, more graceful and fluid than anyone has a right to be when sitting in an airport. “Don’t worry. I can be anyone you want me to be. Within reason, of course.”

‘Don’t worry.’ His words echo in her ear. For a hot, guilty second she can still picture him above her, can still feel him moving inside her.

Alex presses her thighs together and shakes her head. “How about you just be yourself?”

Knight raises his brows.

“I mean, aside from the obvious. Wouldn’t it be easier to stick as close to the truth as possible? Can’t we just gloss over what you do for a living or how we met?”

“How did we meet, in that case?” Knight asks. “I’m sure enquiring minds will want to know.”

“Hey, isn’t that my line?” Alex smiles. “Anyway, I figured we can say we met at an event. For Minnow Beats Whale.”

“Ah,” Knight crosses one leg over the other. “And I’m to play the wealthy donor?”

Alex shakes her head. “Too Lifetime. Unless you really _are_ a wealthy donor. In which case I thank you very much for your contribution.”

Knight laughs. “I can’t say that I am. Not that I’m disinterested in public radio, of course.”

“Of course.” Alex purses her lips as she wracks her brain. “Well, what did you want to be when you were little?”

“You mean, what dreams did I dash when I turned to my current profession?”

“No!” Alex says, face heating up. “No, of course not. I meant—”

Knight waves a hand. “It’s fine. I suppose I wanted to be a professor.”

“A professor?” 

Something in Knight’s expression clouds over. “I was always drawn to academia.”

Alex aches to press, to find out more, but she tamps down on the urge. “Okay, so you can be a professor. A professor of what, exactly?”

“Psychology.” 

This time, Alex raises her brows.

Knight smirks. “I know. My—nevermind. “

Knight crosses his arms and shakes his head. “Tell me about your family. Whatever you would tell to a potential boyfriend.”

“Um,” Alex says, thrown off by the way he closed himself off. Even his bright blue eyes seem to be shuttered. “Well, I have a huge family. We’re loud and generally obnoxious. Only Gramma Harriet is still with us—you’ll meet her, I’m sure.”

At this, Knight flinches.

“My, um, mother can be a little overbearing, but she means well. And my father likes to fish, so, if you’re something of an angler, you’ll be sure to get along.”

“I can’t say I ever picked up the skill, no.”

“That’s alright. He won’t hold it against you.” Alex hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip. “And, what about you? What do you want me to say if someone asks about your family?”

“I don’t have one,” he says. The words themselves are heavy, but he says it with such calculated nonchalance that Alex wonders if they might have a bit of truth to them. 

“I—okay. I can work with that.”

Knight nods.

Alex spares a moment to look at everything in the airport except the man seated next to her. Overfilled garbage can, check. Testy toddler, check. Adorable couple sleeping soundly, propped up on one another? Check.

Finally, Alex looks at Knight. “I wanted to thank you again for doing this for me. I know we kind of got a rough start, but I appreciate you taking my case.”

Something small and sad softens in his bright blue eyes. “Your case?”

“Sorry. I didn’t know what else to call it. Thank you for pretending to be my boyfriend so I don’t get caught in a lie or have to spend the entirety of this family reunion dodging looks of pity or answering questions like, ‘when are you going to settle down?’?”

“You’re welcome. If anything...your _case_ , as you put it, is more interesting than any of the other cases I have going on, at the moment.”

Alex smiles. “Glad I could at least provide you with something _interesting_.”

The intercom crackles. “Now boarding, Zone One. Now boarding, Zone One.”

Alex jumps up. “That’s us!”

“So it is.” Knight rises and gathers his carry on. He follows Alex and her rolling duffle bag to stand in line.


	4. Chapter 4

Alex pulls the rental car to a stop next to her father’s twenty year old Honda Accord. She puts the car in park, kills the engine, and chirps a too-cheerful “We’re here!”

Knight closes the novel he’d spent the entire journey speeding through. He looks at her with one brow raised.

Alex winces. “I’m nervous, okay? I mean, what if Mom figures it out? What then? What if she tells the entire family? I’ll have to—”

Knight disengages his seatbelt, leans in, and kisses her.

The kiss is soft and slow and Alex, in spite of herself, chases it when Knight pulls back just far enough to say, “Your mother was looking through the window.”

“Oh,” Alex says, turning pink. “Then, I guess there’s no turning back.”

“You’ll be fine.” Knight disengages her seat belt for her before sitting back in his seat. “Ready?”

Alex takes a deep breath and lets it out. “As I’ll ever be.”

As soon as Alex swings her door open, her mother emerges from the front door, the screen door squealing closed behind her. “Alex!”

“Hi, Mom,” Alex says, letting her mother sweep her into a hug. She hugs back, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of her mother’s stress-baking. 

“And who is this?” Alex’s mother asks. 

“Richard,” Knight says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Reagan.”

Alex’s mother grins at Alex before turning to Knight. “Come on, we’re huggers in this family.”

Knight allows Alex’s mother to throw her arms around his neck. He wraps his arms around her middle with a smile. “Alex warned me you would be.”

Alex hadn’t, actually. They’d spent most of their trip in silence, Knight reading and Alex fretting. 

“Come in, come in,” Alex’s mother says. “I made chocolate chip cookies—Alex’s favorite.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Alex, why don’t you get your bags from the car? That way you can get showered and changed out of those airport clothes before dinner.”

Alex sighs. “Right.”

“Let me help,” Knight says. He moves toward the car, only to be ushered toward the house by Alex’s mother.

“Nonsense, you’re our guest. Alex can handle it.”

Alex shoots Knight an apologetic smile before popping the trunk of the car. She lifts Knight’s backpack first, slinging it over her shoulder. Next, she drags her duffle bag out of the trunk and sets it on the concrete. Knight’s suitcase lays at the back of the trunk and Alex curses her height when she has to climb half-way into the trunk to grab it by the bag tag. As she pulls it toward her, the name on the tag catches her eye. 

_Strand, Richard_

The same name he’d used as his Venmo username.

Was Richard Knight a pseudonym?

Alex shakes her head. None of her business. Knight or Strand, it doesn’t matter. She should stick to being grateful that he’d agreed to help her rather than pry into his personal life.

Still, even as she rolls both suitcases up the driveway, her fingers itch with the all-too-familiar urge to pull out her phone to find out more.

Dinner is not awkward, much to Alex’s relief. Well, certain aspects of dinner prove not to be awkward. Not including Alex herself, who finds herself constantly second-guessing what to say or how to act. Knight, in contrast, shines in his role of loving boyfriend. He laughs at all of Alex’s mother’s jokes, he answers all of Alex’s father’s questions, and never once forgets to pause to pay some small attention to Alex, casting her fond looks and smiling at her in a way that makes her knees weak.

It’s not until after dinner that Alex’s plans start to fall apart.

They’re sitting in the family room watching the news, each nursing a freshly poured margarita courtesy of Alex’s mother, when the anchors abruptly turn to the weather for a breaking update on Hurricane Barry.

“Thank you, Kevin. We have some breaking news. While past projections predicted Barry to move up the west coast, new models are now shedding light on a new path. We’re unfortunately looking at Barry swinging north much sooner than anticipated. Barry is now expected to barrel up the eastern coast at a strong category three.” 

“Oh dear,” Alex’s mother says.

“Good thing we prepared months ago,” Alex’s father says. “Still, we’re going to need a little help to batten down the hatches. Alex, Richard, you wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“You’ll be staying here, of course,” Alex’s mother says, picking up the cordless phone. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to make some calls. We’ll have to postpone the reunion. Oh, your cousins will be _so_ disappointed.”

Alex looks at Knight. He shoots her a carefully guarded look of concern, to which Alex can only shrug.

“Of course we’ll help, Dad,” Alex says. “What do you need done?”

“I’ll let you cancel your arrangements with the hotel, then you can help your mother bring everything in from outside. Richard, how are you at putting up hurricane shutters?”

“I admit, I was never much of a handyman, myself.”

Alex’s father pushes himself out of his customary armchair with a fatherly groan. “Come on, I’ll show you. Shouldn’t be too hard with the two of us.”

Knight follows Alex’s father out to the garage. Alex takes her phone to the upstairs guest room to cancel _both_ hers and Knight’s separate rooms at the hotel.

It’s not until she finishes the call to the hotel that she realizes the obvious.

The guest room is furnished with a single full sized bed.

Knight is going to kill her.


	5. Chapter 5

Alex steps out of the shower for the second time in one day, thankful to be free of the sweat and grime of hurricane prep. She dries off and changes into her pajamas, doubly thankful that she’d brought a shirt _and_ shorts. 

Knight is in their room, already showered and dressed in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a plain black T-shirt. He looks up from his book when Alex enters.

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but I’m really sorry. This is totally not how I had planned for the weekend to go.”

Knight shakes his head. He closes his book and sets it on the bedside table. “It’s alright. Although, I may have to charge extra if you turn out to be a cuddler.”

Alex blushes. “I can always sleep on the floor if—” 

Knight laughs. “I’m kidding Alex. Come to bed.”

Alex blushes harder. “I—alright.”

Alex sits on the bed and wriggles under the covers. Knight turns off the lamp and climbs into the bed, as well.

She listens to the rustling of the tree outside their bedroom, to the rain steadily beating at the shutters. Beside her, Knight relaxes into sleep, his breath turned slow and even.

Alex, in spite of the long day, does not find sleep within her grasp.

Carefully, she picks her phone up from where she left it charging on the bedside table, turns the brightness down, and, with a quick glance at the man sleeping beside her, enters _richard knight_ into Google.

Nothing. 

No social media. No news articles. No criminal records.

A pseudonym, then.

With another glance at Knight’s sleeping face, she enters _richard strand_.

The first result is an article entitled “The Rise and Fall of the Strand Institute.” Alex clicks the link and lets out a breath of surprise when Knight’s picture appears. Hidden behind a book, younger, perhaps, but him. 

Alex skims the article, ignoring the scathing tone in favor of drinking in every detail.

Author. Two doctorates from an Ivy League University. Psychology _and_ Religion? An Institute promising one million dollars to anyone with definitive proof of the supernatural? Closed after years of financial struggle.

Could that be why Knight settled into his current profession?

Alex shakes her head. She clicks off the article and selects the second search result, a website devoted to a podcast called “Where In The World Is Richard Strand?”

She scrolls through the episodes, reading titles such as “Howard & Maria Strand,” “The Boy & The River,” “Charlie,” “The Disappearance of Coralee Strand,” “The Institute - Part I,” “The Institute - Part II,” and “Gone.”

Knight turns and for a panicked second, Alex thinks he might have caught her. Instead, he settles down, curled into himself, with a soft sigh.

Cursing herself for not having brought her headphones to bed, Alex searches the site for transcripts. While the site itself doesn’t offer any, Alex finds a link on the discussion board to episode transcripts written up by a fan of the show. She sends a silent ‘thank you’ off to the universe and, with shaking fingers, clicks onto the transcript for the first episode.

Three hours later, rain pelting the roof and hurricane shutters, Alex stares at the man sleeping beside her.

Richard Strand.


	6. Chapter 6

“Alex, honey,” her mother says over a plate of pancakes, “you look dreadful. Did you not get any sleep?”

Knight—or Strand, Alex supposes—shoots another concerned glance at Alex. It’s his third concerned glance in as many minutes.

Thankfully, he’d already been up and about by the time Alex woke, saving her from blurting out the questions that have burned in her all night long. 

“I guess I’m a little jetlagged,” Alex says, staring at everything in the room except her supposed boyfriend. “Where’s Dad?”

“Oh, he’s in the garage, looking for that old radio. I’m sure the batteries aren’t any good, but you know him.”

Alex takes a bite of her pancakes, covered in powdered sugar instead of syrup, just how she likes them. Alex glances at Strand. “I’m sure it hasn’t just up and _vanished_. But you know how some things are. They just _disappear_ on you as soon as you look away.”

Strand’s eyes narrow. He wipes his hands on his napkin before scooting away from the table with a hurried, “If you’ll excuse me.”

Alex drops her fork to follow him into the family room. “Strand—I mean, Knight—”

He whirls on her with a hushed, “Did you know?”

“Did I know what?”

“Did you know who I was before you hired me? Is that why you approached me? For some—some story?”

“No, of course not.”

He brushes his hair from his face, gorgeous even when angry. “Are you working for him?”

Alex shakes her head. “Who?”

“Warren.”

Alex’s brows knit together. She hadn’t come across the name Warren in all her research the night before. “No. I swear. I didn’t know anything until I looked you up last night.”

“Last night? Why?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep and curiosity will be the death of me?”

Strand pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s quite possibly the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. What I did was way out of line. I should have left well enough alone and I’m very, very sorry.”

“Fine.” Strand sighs. “I’m going back upstairs. Do I need to draft a confidentiality agreement or can I finish my novel in peace?”

“You can finish your novel. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Strand turns on his heel and stalks off toward the stairs. He takes them two at a time until he’s no longer in view.

Alex returns to the breakfast table. Her mother takes a too-casual sip of her mimosa.

“You know, dear,” she says, “you can _always_ talk to me whenever you and Richard have a little spat.”

Alex speaks around a mouthful of pancakes. “We’re not having a spat.”

“Perhaps it was too early for you to bring home a boyfriend. Richard is a darling, of _course_ , but perhaps it would have been better for you to wait until you were a little more established, for the honeymoon phase to wear off, as it were.”

“Mom, please.”

“I mean, how much do you know about him, really?” her mother continues.

“Too much, apparently,” Alex mumbles into her glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

“At this stage, everything seems like it’s all, I don’t know, puppy dogs and rainbows.” Alex’s mother waits for Alex to make a smart remark and frowns when Alex doesn’t hit her cue. “Are you quite alright, Alex?”

Alex slows her frantic chewing, the guilt sitting like a hot, heavy weight in the pit of her gut. “I’m fine. I’m just gonna go upstairs.”

Alex’s mother smiles, and it’s a little too knowing for Alex’s liking. “Of course, dear.”

Alex knocks on the guest room door before slipping inside.

Strand sits on the edge of the bed, scrunched over himself, his head hanging between his knees.

“Hey,” Alex says. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Alex smiles. “I just used that lie on my mother.”

Strand laughs, quiet and breathy. 

In some small way, Alex is happy to know that his laugh is all Strand and not an affectation put on by Knight.

Alex sits beside Strand. “I wanted to apologize again for snooping into your private life.”

With a small sigh, Strand unscrunches. “You can’t tell anyone. I’m already ruined and this—”

He shakes his head. “I could be arrested, Alex.”

“I know,” Alex says. “Really, I do. And you have my word, after what you’ve done for me, I would never, ever do something like that. Not even for the story.”

Alex places her hand on his bicep and squeezes.

Strand blinks, like he can hardly believe someone has reached out to him with real human kindness, then covers her hand with his own.

Alex laces their fingers, her thumb sweeping over the knuckle of his index finger.

In the space of a breath, he’s kissing her.

Gently, he presses her backwards against the bed. He hovers over her and presses kisses to the sensitive skin beneath her eyes, to the swell of one cheekbone, followed by the other. He trails kisses down the column of her throat and whispers, “What do you want?”

Alex blinks back to herself. She presses her hands against his chest, pushing him away from her. “Wait, wait, wait.”

Strand goes, his expression a roadmap of confusion and hurt. “Alex?”

“I was comforting you, not coming onto you, you doof.”

“I—what?” 

“Plus, it’s not like I can afford to keep sleeping with you just because you’re hot and I’m lonely. Especially not when...when…”

Don’t say it.

Do not say it.

“I’m starting to fall for you.”

_Fuck_.

“You— _what_?”

“I know, I know, I know. It’s the most cliched thing, ever. You probably get this all the time—” 

Strand hushes her with a searing kiss. It takes Alex a long, hot moment to remember herself.

“Wait,” she says again, breathless. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I spend my nights with strangers, Alex. Do you not think I could also be lonely?”

“Oh.”

“Ever since that first night—I haven’t—I couldn’t get you out of my head. Why do you think I agreed when you asked me to take your case?”

“ _Oh._ ”

Instead of his usual wry smile, the one he gifts her with is small, yet sincere. Shy, almost. He ducks his head, as if even that bit of truth is too much for him to reveal, all at once.

Slowly, tentatively, Alex reaches out. She cups his cheek, following the swell of his cheekbone with her thumb.

Strand leans into the touch with a heavy sigh. He turns his head to press a kiss to the palm of her hand.

“I want you,” Alex says. “I do. I’d be crazy not to. But I’d like to take it slow, get to know you better before—before—” 

Alex gestures between them, her face hot.

Strand’s eyes soften. He leans in to slot his lips over Alex’s in a long, lingering kiss.

Outside, the wind whistles. Rain falls and thunder rumbles. 

Inside, the power winks out. But neither Alex nor Strand notice for a very long time.


	7. Chapter 7

Her parents go to bed early, complaining of the sticky, humid heat and having not enough light to see, leaving Alex and Strand cuddled on the sofa.

Shadows play on the living room wall as candles flicker around them. Strand flinches again and Alex tugs him closer.

“What is it about the shadows that make you so nervous?” Alex asks. “You’ve been keyed up all day.”

Strand looks at Alex, his mouth opened in surprise, as if he wants to ask her just how easy it was for her to see through him. He closes it with a snap. “They remind me of my father.”

“Your father? Howard?”

Strand’s lips thin into a line. “He once tried to educate me on the power of belief by taking me into a cave when I was a young boy. He made me stare at the shadows on the walls for hours.”

“That’s...terrible.”

Strand sighs. “I know.”

“Was he part of the reason you built the Strand Institute?”

“He was certainly the means for building it. I thought...perhaps he would have been proud of me. And my mission. In reality I was obsessed. With the disappearance of my wife. With my research. I burned through the one million dollar prize money just trying to keep the Institute afloat.”

“And then you disappeared.”

Strand nods. “I was ruined. I’d burned so many bridges with the Black Tapes. When Miriam Clairmont approached me...I was so desperate to be someone entirely not myself that I agreed.”

Alex chews at her bottom lip. “What if we—? Nevermind.”

Strand tenses. “What if we, what?”

“Nevermind, it’s stupid. I’ve already pried to much and—”

“Tell me, Alex.”

“What if we re-opened your Black Tapes cases?” 

Strand is silent for so long, Alex opens her mouth to apologize for offending him. Again.

“How?” he asks.

Alex blinks in surprise. “We could start a podcast? Minnow Beats Whale is looking into getting into the genre and I know a certain pair of executive producers who owe me a couple of favors. You’d get the funding to re-open your Black Tapes cases and since it’s audio only, you wouldn’t have to step directly into the spotlight. All I would ask is for you to bring me along for the ride.”

Strand frowns. “Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest? If you and I—” 

“Are dating?” Alex asks. She still can’t quite believe it, herself. “Maybe. I mean, _probably_. But we’ve got a few days to work on the rough draft of it, which I can present to Terry and Paul. And, if they’re really worried about it, they can put Nic on the project as my producer.”

Strand pulls her close. He kisses her shoulder blade through the cotton of her shirt and sighs. “I’ll think about it.” 

Thunder cracks. One of the shadows on the wall flickers, elongating in a way that almost looks like a tree. Or an inhumanly tall man. Strand buries his face in the space between Alex’s neck and shoulder.

“Come on,” Alex says, running her fingers through his dark hair. “Let’s go upstairs. I think I know how we can keep your mind off the shadows.”

Strand lifts his head. He looks at her, brow cocked.

“Not like that,” Alex says. “I meant, you could try to teach me about this apophenia business. I think I’ve seen it written about a billion times by now, but all everyone can ever describe is clouds.”

Strand smiles. “I’d like that.”

Alex untangles herself from him long enough to get up from the sofa. She holds her hand out for Strand to take. 

She leads him upstairs, pausing only long enough to kiss him at the top.


End file.
